


Reaching for the Sky

by Duckgomery



Category: Brave (2012), How to Train Your Dragon (2010), Rise of the Guardians (2012), Tangled (2010)
Genre: AU, Gen, Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons, actiony, woot, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 03:06:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckgomery/pseuds/Duckgomery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was not Hiccup's best plan to date, though how was he to know it'd end up this way?</p><p>How a run-away lady-in-training, a princess who doesn't know she's a princess, an MIA son of a Viking Chief, and Jack, discover that you can't run forever and sometimes demons need to be faced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reaching for the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Ok.  
> Time for something completely different.  
> It's a bad idea to have me working when the store is dead. I get terrible ideas for aus. Terrible, terrible ideas that I actually develope and then cave in and write.  
> I have never written action before, so I apologise. It seems that the genre is forever beyond my reach.  
> None the less, here's the first chapter of what I hope is a satisfactory series.

               Back stiff and limbs cramped from forcing himself into such a small place for a prolonged amount of time, Hiccup realised that this might not have been his most thought through plan to date. Though to be honest, his plan had consisted of hide away one of the raiding ships, prove self in battle, in which he would gain respect from his peers.

               All he was at the moment was sore, hungry, and cold. _How could the others, working the oars and mast stand it?_ He thought to himself. Many of the oblivious crew were wearing no more than vests and breeches, nothing compared to the considerably less exposed attire Hiccup had adorned himself in. Then again, it wasn’t like he was built like the rest of them, he had to make up for body that he lacked.

               His face creases, reaffirming his resolve and allowing him to swallow his dis-satisfaction at his current predicament. He was doing this for a reason, and he wasn’t going to accept anything less than what he had planned.

               He was entitled to his victory, his rewards. He was the son and rightful heir to Stoic the Vast, one of the most feared and revered Viking Chiefs for what seemed to be generations. It was said that the man had shattered a boulder by simply banging his head against it. Hiccup believed this to be true, it was the only explanation to his father’s lack of reasoning and understanding abilities.

               So he sat there, huddled between the crates and barrels, each jam packed with the weaponry that already had taken countless lives and was assured to take countless more.

               Hopefully they’d work for Hiccup as they did his people, so he could prove to his village, his peers, his father, that he wasn’t a screw up. He was a Viking, a fearless warrior, a blood thirsty beast on the battle field.

               He’d show them.

               They’ll all see.

               They’ll learn to respect the name of Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third if it was the last thing he’d do.

 

               The weeks were rough, but none of the crew working on the longboat were any the wiser of their stowaway. Hiccup was beginning to get weary of hiding in the shadows, of only stealing enough food to sustain him so the missing rations would go un-noticed for the most part. He was cold, tired, and beginning to feel woozy, a side effect of being perpetually damp due to the savage and hungry seas.

               He’d been prepared for the savagery and cacophony of battle but not the hungry, licking waves that reached over the craft’s railings. Since the first storm of the voyage, his nights had been restless, filled with constant paranoia. He didn’t want to be swept overboard. Unlike the rest of the crew, his disappearance would be un-noticed; he’d made sure of that.

 

               As he dozed, lulled into a state of half-sleep by the now deceptively calm waves, his thoughts took him back to the harsh rocky island that he’d been raised on.

               He had many happy memories of his childhood, of running around, playing warriors and other games with the kids his age. He was always the shortest, the skinniest, but his parents were both assured that he’d have a growth spurt any year now.

               As he got older, he never got the height or the girth that he wished for every night beneath the starry sky. The other children caught on to the fact that he was different and either avoided him in fear of being associated with the anomaly, or decided that being different made him a perfect target.

               If the behaviour of his peers towards the latter had done anything, it’d made Hiccup quick on his feet. Once he got running, no-one could catch him, or scale a tree like him, or hide in small spaces like him.

               Though there was no merit in fleeing and cowering among his people, which only deepened the ravine between him and them.

               His father always had hopes that one day he’d wake up and find that his son was the Viking he had every right to be, but it hurt. It hurt to know, that in his father’s eyes he was never good enough, that he was merely a tide over until he magically fitted the mould that was his apparent birth-right.

               Hearing clamouring around him, he cracked his eyes open. Momentarily disorientated by the combination of heat and light bearing down on him, it took Hiccup a moment to process what was going in.

               There were orders being yelled from ship to ship.

               There was clanging and clamouring as weapons were being tossed and shifted about.

               There were cries of alarm from far off.

               Craning his head to look over the side of the ship, Hiccup could see the shore coming to meet them.

               It wasn’t until the first Vikings dove over the edge, brandishing axes, shields, and hungry smiles that the reality of the situation sunk in.

               This was not his best plan to date at all.

 

               It turned out to be easier than he expected to blend in with the chaos and melee that descended over the scene like a fog.

               Shield banging into his shins, arms already aching from the weight of that plus the axe he was somehow also carrying, Hiccup really wished he’d been able to put on some muscle mass. It was disheartening to struggle as he was, while he saw the others throwing their weight and weapons around like it was nothing.

               Well, this called for a change of plans, and if Hiccup knew he was good at anything, it was thinking on his feet. There was nothing like an angry Snotlout screaming death threats at you to make you think of the best route to take in order to tire out and escape the brute and bane of his childhood.

               If he couldn’t fight like his fellow Vikings, then he’d just have to loot as many valuables as he could. If he brought back enough wealth, he was sure to get some more respect. In fact, with the right treasure, he’d probably achieve more glory than surviving this skirmish.

               With his new plan now in motion, he tossed aside the cumbersome artillery. He hoped that if push did come to shove, than the dagger hanging off his belt would be more than enough to fend off, or at least dissuade any possible assailants.

 

               Losing himself further and further into the village, the clamour of battle echoing around him, Hiccup began to mutter his mantra of sorts more and more.

_Need to find something._

               Duck.

_Something of value._

               Cough. The fires were really starting to spread now.

_Anything._

               Stepping over another fallen villager.

               When the screams became too loud, and the ferocity of the raging battle too much, Hiccup ducked down and away, stealing into a small house. The door was wedged tightly into a place that could’ve easily been missed. If he’d been built any bigger, he’d probably have to turn sideways to even fit through the entrance. It was the one time he’d willingly admit that his slight stature worked to his advantage.

               He didn’t know what he’d be expecting once he crossed the threshold, but it certainly wasn’t this.

               The walls were crammed with books and trinkets, most of which were probably of some archaic nature if the text and sigils across their sines and etched across them were any indicators. What space wasn’t taken up by the tomes and tools of the trade held plants of all sorts. Hiccup was only able to identify a few of them, but it was enough to tell him that the owner of this place was most likely not going to take to kindly to a trespasser.

               His gut told him to hurry up and take something, anything, before this warlock, or witch, came back to find someone donned in the skins and scent of a Viking in their workshop.

               The creaking and hurried footfalls further in assured Hiccup that his gut was correct.

               Moving rather than thinking, he snatches up a satchel from the floor, and begins to shove whatever he can reach into its confines. Hopefully what he gathers is of some value, especially if there is some form of magical properties imbedded in them.

               Vikings were more doers than tinkerers so magic and things of the like always held some sort of appeal. Even if it was a mere gimmick, it should be better than coming back empty handed.

               A cry of alarm made Hiccup snap his head up, hands still blindly sliding more of the desks contents into the now heavy bag.

               “Hey, stop. Stop!” That was all that Hiccup stayed around long enough to hear. He felt that the more distance he put between him and the man he’d just stolen from, the better things would be for him. His gut was right once so far today, so he may as well listen to it.

               Smoke had filled the streets, and the way back to shore became obscured. It was also rather difficult to breath, with the air as black as it was. Still, he ran onwards, stumbling more often than not, but Hiccup’s grip on the bag only tightened with each passing obstacle.

               He’d worked too hard to acquire this, he was not going to go back empty handed.

               A house to his side, having given up after the flames had eaten at it from the inside out, collapsed. Timber and stone was flung out from the impact and it was just the Viking boy’s luck that he was within the radius.

               Hiccup never saw the shrapnel coming.

               It was a good thing that his helmet was knocked away in the blast, otherwise his rescuers would have more likely than not thought otherwise than to see to his wounds.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys.  
> Guess what?  
> I have a tumblr.  
> Feel free to drop a line, or pester me. Either or.  
> I've taken the habit of posting updates of what I'm working on on that page.  
> Yeah, shameless self-promotion,  
> http://duckgomery.tumblr.com/


End file.
